Moving Day

There was a house where I used to live. Live? No, trapped really. The house had no walls, yet blocked me in. No doors, yet shut me inside. No windows, and no light. The house’s name was Sorrow, and I made my home there for a very long time.

I’m not sure when I moved in, when I arranged my things on the mantlepiece and put up my clothes and made a place for myself there. I just remember that I was there for the longest time. It was a strangely comforting place. Even in the midst of the terrible aching that was the constant theme, there was a disturbingly easy sense of familiarity. As much as the walls fenced me in, they were my walls. As much as the doors shut others out, those were my doors.

I had come to believe that the underlying theme of my life is constant melancholy and sorrow, and that any experience of happiness, joy, or fulfillment was but a fleeting illusory moment that will quickly pass away, leaving only the sadness that is my ultimate destiny, and that to believe otherwise is a naive attempt to escape from reality.

I used to live in a house called Sorrow. But I don’t live there anymore. I’m in the Lord’s house now. And it is a good thing indeed.

Surprising News

Last night I had a dream.

In my dream, I was chatting with a dear friend (I won’t say who, but I already told him this story). We were sharing stories from years past, when he gave a long, defeated sigh.

“You know, there’s something that I’ve never told you. Never told anyone.” He had a pained expression, and it was clear that he was speaking from a place of deep regret.

“Years ago, I was in a really bad place in my life. I felt so lonely and distant from everyone. So I went out, and spent money on…Well, I didn’t want to feel so lonely, so…I spent money on a prostitute. I spent money on sex.”

He hung his head low. I didn’t know what to say. I had never heard him speak about this, and was honestly at a loss for words. Then he raised his head and continued.

“And now, I found out that I had a son through her. He’s here, actually. Would you like to meet him?”

He turned around and gestured behind him, and around the corner came…a baby kangaroo.

I said “Ah, I can see the resemblance. At least, as much resemblance as there can be with a kangaroo.” Then I woke up.

So did I just dream that a friend had a child with a kangaroo? Seems like it.

Is it the paranoia?

Sometimes, I see the stream of different conversations and connections among people on Facebook, and get a bit jealous. It’s almost as if all these people are in on some fabulous social orbit, a higher level of connectivity that is just outside my grasp. It seems as if I am once again left out, disconnected from everyone else (is that just me or is it the paranoia?)

Then I realize, no, people’s lives are actually pretty dull, and there’s not much going on, and get somewhat spooked out by that.

But the reality is that life is beautiful, love is true, and that trying to make social observations at 1:00 AM off a social networking website is just silly.

Small joy

One small joy in life is taking your laptop into the bathroom and singing along really loudly to songs playing through the speakers while in the shower.

I, I’ve been broken in

But I sure ain’t been broken down

I, I’ve been broken in

But I sure ain’t been broken down

Props if you know who this is!